Ok. Here’s this morning’s hilariousness. Was on the toilet LITERALLY LOOKING UP “proud of myself” memes because I was adulting and feeling proud of myself for doing all the random (forgive the pun) crap that needed doing.
Wiped, flushed, toilet water began pouring from base of toilet.
Moral of story – don’t be proud while taking a shit. Universe will make you pay. 🤣🤣🤣

….so, how much gold do you think it’s going to take to fix the toilet? *laughing*

Okay, it’s not actually winning (but it totally is). I went to a holiday party last night (and this morning is a stark reminder of why drinking is not really my thing, also have no tolerance at all – 2 drinks and wooooo!) and I got to see one of my “ex’s” (using air quotes cause it was more extended time period of hookups than actual relationship) and I looked good. I usually do not get to see people that no longer see me naked looking good – case in point the last time I saw another “ex” I literally had on a green pore cleaning face mask. Such is my awkward life.

But last night I was in heels (screw my ankle, it’ll heal again!), a boob-emphasising dress, and my hair was down (true story, I’m 73% more attractive with my hair down).

Now, I have no emotional attachment to this guy and wish him nothing but happiness in life. But YAY! I won because I looked hotter now than I did back then! YAY!

So, a plague-rat has infected me and now I’m dying. To detail that a little better, my friend’s son gave me his cold and now I’ve turned into a disgusting snot-monster who can’t lay down without coughing. Even worse, beloved manly rough and tough husband appears to be coming down with it as well. While he may be the roughest and toughest manly man ever (shut up, he reads this! :P), when he is sick he devolves. When I’m sick I regress into cave-dwelling-leave-me-alone-but-now-I’m-lonely level of annoying. The two of us sick at the same time = no bueno. He texted me from work asking if we can cancel the viewing of a potential rental house because he feels crappy too.

Welp. We’re doomed. I warned him that if we are both sick at the same time he better use the last of his strength to bring home provisions lest we drown in our own mucus. He agreed, here is the list:

1. soup. it’s what we live on now. I recommend getting plenty of it. chicken noodle and split pea sound great to me (uh. not together).

2. crackers. because we live on them in soup.

3. diet coke (we’re low)

4. more juice (because I love you and we will fight over the juice if it gets low).

5. vanilla coke (cause you like it)

6. popsicles. because they help. obviously bomb pops are the best but any port in a storm.

Or should I say, it will be a good day, dammit.
The Tuesday following a Monday off has always been a rough day; conversely, I have found most Friday the 13ths to be lovely. Anywhoodle, yesterday was a rough day for no real reason, just found it tough. So I woke up today determined for it to be good. I put on a new (kinda sexy) pair of underwear and a comfy pair of jeans to wear to the office. Unfortunately, once I arrived and was walking up the stairs to get to my office I learned that this particular new underwear is a bit too slippery for denim and my pants keep trying to fall (the fuck) off. As I unlocked the office door and stomped my way into the office, holding my bag with one hand and my pants with the other this thought ran through my head, “well, if there is ever going to be a zombie apocalypse it will happen on a day where I can’t keep my pants on.” This thought made me laugh out loud to myself and reminded me that I wanted to write an apocalypse story (book?) where during the first few chapters our rather well-endowed-in-the chestular-area-heroine spends a significant amount of time finding a bra. Why? Because at this point in my life attempting anything physical (running, fighting zombies, etc.) without adequate support sounds torturous and finding a decent bra during a zombie apocalypse seems like something a normal gal would have to do. Sure, she may have to save the world, but first things first – find a bra.

Got married, and for the record that was super scary too, but by golly it’s been kinda great.

The only speedbumps in my idyllic highway of life (ha! at the moment. as y’all know there are ALWAYS going to be speedbumps) are my landlords and my boss. Since I have only so much time to kvetch on here, I’ll save my boss stories for another day.

the landlords

okay, so I’m sure they are good people somewhere down deep. Like really really deep. (Or maybe not, who knows?) Their daughter is one of the best people I know, so they can’t be all bad (theoretically).

About a year ago they offered to sell us the house. We excitedly agreed and decided it made more sense for us to buy the house as a married couple. They encouraged us to have the wedding at their house. We agreed. We arranged everything, paid for everything, and did our best to be conscientious guests. Two days before the wedding I fell down the concrete & tile stairs at their house during a rainstorm and hurt myself rather badly. Toughed it out, kept moving, got married and it was lovely (theoretically, can’t know for sure as the photographer (WHO APPARENTLY DOESN’T UNDERSTAND CLOUD STORAGE OPTIONS) broke his hard drive and lost all of our pictures. Yes, we have had great people look at it, and yes…it’s toast.) We wanted to spend our wedding night at home and we were also responsible for shuttling three of our beloved friends who flew down for the wedding. The morning after the wedding I was hurting badly, but as soon as the Advil kicked in we got up, picked up friends, and took the bows & ribbons down on our way to the house. When we arrived most of the cleanup was done (per their daughter, she and her boyfriend stacked up all the chairs before they left the night before), so we began packing all the stuff away. The next day my mother and I shared a plate of fish and chips and ended up with food poisoning. I felt horrible, she felt horrible and I was freaking exhausted. I did not take my mother to see the adult parade because [see above] food poisoning, exhaustion, and severe back pain.

Well that was apparently the “last straw” for the landlord who decided to approach me to calmly discuss her feelings in a private chat….no wait, that would have been appropriate, what she decided to do was screech at me about how selfish and ungrateful of a person I am (note: only me, not my new husband) in front of a beach bar of people (including my mother) and how dare I not show up earlier to set up and tear down for my wedding and how dare I not take my mother to the adult parade and then she stomped off. I just sat there and cried. I haven’t heard from her since – except recently to tell us (via email) that we can no longer buy the house and to increase the rent by an additional $200 per month. Then, to add just a little more joy to it, another email came through changing it so we are now responsible to pay for grass cutting (which means our rent just increased by at least $300 per month) – she even was thoughtful enough to suggest it would be great exercise. And the latest bit of joy is that we need to lock in on this great deal for a year lease.

The shittiest part of it all, is that due to these five beloved idiot rescue dogs (fingers crossed – may have a home for one of them) we are pretty much stuck accepting whatever fucked up “punishment” amendments they decide to force our way.

Anywhoodle, other than that crap – life is good. If anyone knows of a dog-friendly small house with fenced in yard for rent here on STX, please let me know! ❤❤❤

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Squished Together…

I write this blog to make myself laugh, and sometimes I even make other people laugh. Beware, there are probably spelling, syntax, grammar, and formatting mistakes all through this blog--but I try not to frak it up too much. I used to try to maintain two blogs, and since that was ridiculously difficult to do that as well as, you know, live--I decided to 'squish' the two of them together. Regardless of what my best friend thinks, the name of this blog has little to nothing to do with my boobs. *sigh* But, since I have family who could some day find this blog I have decided to put anything somewhat risque under a password. Anyone who would like that password needs only to send me a request. If you make the subject line something like "smut" or "password" it will help. :) Please send all requests to: squishedtogether@gmail.com
*kisses*